


Five times Tony got off thinking of Adam, and one time Adam was there

by eatingcroutons



Category: Burnt (2015)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Porn, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, there may be more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatingcroutons/pseuds/eatingcroutons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blame <a href="http://fahre.tumblr.com/">fahre</a> for this one:</p><p>“Burnt fandom needs the gift of 5+1. Specifically the 5 sad little wanks Tony had while thinking about Adam +1 he had while Adam was watching (and it blew Adam’s mind with hotness).”</p><p>(But also thank fahre for cheerleading and tolerating my endless moaning about how <i>wanking shouldn't be this difficult</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paris, 2005

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fahre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fahre/gifts).



_“Mierda!”_

Tony drops the pan on the stove and shoves his wrist under the tap, hissing when the cold water hits his skin.

Fucking bream.

“Tony?” Malek pads into the living room, barefoot in his pyjamas. “You’re home early.”

Tony sighs and reaches over to turn off the hob. “Practising.”

Malek raises an eyebrow, but says nothing as Tony uses a fork to break a corner off the fillet he’s just been frying. The texture is perfect: just a hint of crispiness before the meat disintegrates against the roof of his mouth. But there’s still something missing from the flavour.

He swears again, tosses the fork into the sink. “Can you pass me the bin?”

Malek slides it across, then leans a hip against the counter and folds his arms. Tony toes the pedal and dumps his latest attempt in to join the previous two. “I give up.”

“Give up on what?”

“Adam Jones and his magic fucking bream. I can’t figure it out.”

“Adam? The American?” A smirk tugs at Malek’s lips.

Tony glares and raises the spatula. “Don’t you start.”

“You know, for someone who absolutely does not have a crush on the man, an awful lot of your life seems to revolve around Adam Jones.”

“I don’t have a crush.” Tony’s wrist is starting to go numb under the tap. “He asked me to try some bream he was working on the other day, and it was…” Tony gestures with the spatula.

“It was what?”

“Amazing. I can’t figure out what he did with it. I think he made me taste it just to piss me off.”

“Maybe it’s his way of flirting.” Malek is definitely smirking now. “What’s that pet name he calls you again?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It's not a pet name. And I keep telling you: Adam Jones is as bent as a ruler. Fucks a different woman every week.”

“Doesn’t mean that’s the only way he swings,” Malek grins, waggling his eyebrows. “But sure. You absolutely, definitely do not have a crush on the tall blond American with ‘eyes like actual fucking sapphires’.”

“I was _drunk_ , you arsehole.”

“All the best confessions are made under the influence of alcohol. And you, Antonio Balerdi, have a type.”

Tony turns off the tap and grimaces at his wrist. If he’s lucky the scar won’t be too bad.

“What, am I wrong?” Malek starts counting off his fingers. “Long legs. Broad shoulders. Pretty blue eyes, chiseled jaw. And he’s a genius in the kitchen.”

Tony scoffs. “I don’t date chefs.”

“Yeah, you just idolise them and spend every minute of your life obsessing about food. You can’t tell me you’re not impressed.”

“He’s an egotistical arsehole, just like the rest of them.” Tony puts the dirty pan in the sink, turns on the hot tap. “And I’m definitely not stupid enough to try to date a _straight_ chef.”

“You could call him now, you know. See if they’re still at Saint Sauveur.”

Tony turns off the tap, leaving the pan to soak. “The last thing I want right now is anything more to do with Adam Jones. I am going to have a long, hot shower, and then I’m going to get some fucking sleep.”

“Whatever you say, Tony.” Malek grins again, claps him on the shoulder. “I swapped shifts with Dmitri so I’m off tonight. Bathroom’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” Tony drops the spatula in with the pan and wipes his hands on the tea towel.

\---

Besides, Tony thinks as he steps back under the spray, Adam’s got crash and burn written all over him. Brilliant, sure. And passionate – his eyes had practically sparkled when he’d held out that forkful of bream. But he shows up to work with bloodshot eyes and yesterday’s stubble more often than not.

And yes, okay, Tony’s noticed that Adam has ridiculously bright blue eyes, and a strong stubbled jawline, and shoulders that stretch the seams of his t-shirts in a way that is entirely inappropriate for the workplace. But he’s quite capable of appreciating the view from a distance.

He sighs, running his hands through his hair to rinse out the last of his conditioner.

It’s not even like he’s looking. It’s just… the t-shirts make it hard _not_ to notice Adam’s biceps. Or his forearms. Or the way his wrist flexes as he tweaks a pan in and out of the flames.

And then there was way he had reached up and almost – almost – steadied Tony’s jaw with his fingertips while feeding him that forkful of bream.

Which had tasted absolutely fucking divine, goddammit.

Tony turns around and leans back against the tiles, letting the warm water run over his chest. Slides a hand down over his belly.

He can almost still taste it: the flavours creamy and smooth on his tongue, hint of salt balanced with just the right amount of… something. Tony licks his lips, slides his hand down lower still, and wonders what might have happened if he’d asked for another bite.

He can still see the puppy dog grin on Adam’s face; can picture him stepping in closer, holding up another forkful as his fingertips brush over Tony’s jaw. Tony gives his balls a gentle squeeze, then takes hold of his cock, rubs his thumb over the foreskin at the tip.

Or Adam could hold up another piece with his fingers. Let Tony lean in, holding Adam’s gaze, and carefully eat it right out of his hand.

Tony lets his eyes fall shut. Imagines licking Adam’s fingers clean, looking up into those bright blue eyes.

That’d definitely bring a bit of colour to Adam’s cheeks. 

He strokes himself hard as he imagines catching Adam’s wrist before he can pull his hand back. Imagines sliding two of Adam’s fingers all the way into his mouth. Imagines the way Adam’s eyes would widen.

Imagines slowly lowering himself to his knees.

Reaching around to untie Adam’s apron would mean leaning in close. Would mean Tony’s face would be inches away from Adam’s cock. Tony spreads his feet a little wider, stroking himself in a steady rhythm. Once he had Adam’s apron out of the way he’d be able to press his lips to the bulge in Adam’s trousers, mouth at him through the fabric. Close enough to touch, but not to taste. Not yet.

Tony bites his lip, imagines reaching up for Adam’s flies. Imagines the way Adam would grip the counter, white-knuckled, as Tony slipped the head of Adam’s cock into his mouth.

And oh, the taste of it would be – Tony muffles a groan with his free hand, gives his cock a sharp squeeze. Fuck. Not yet. He still wants –

Wants to reach out and prise one of Adam’s hands away from the counter. Wants to look up at Adam as he guides Adam’s fingers to his hair, then close his eyes and slide his mouth all the way down Adam’s cock.

Tony gasps out a _fuck_ , reaches up to grab a fistful of his own hair. Adam would clench his fist instinctively when Tony pulled back to work his tongue just under the head of Adam’s cock. Would swear under his breath, wouldn’t be able to help jerking his hips forward, cock shoving right back into Tony’s mouth. He’d use his grip to hold Tony’s head in place, and Tony would close his eyes and take as much as Adam could give.

Tony yanks painfully on his own hair as he comes, gasping, hips arching away from the wall. He rides out the orgasm until he’s practically shaking, slumped against the tiles and still massaging his softening cock.

The water almost feels cool on his overheated skin. 

He gives himself a moment to come down from the high, letting the shower wash him clean. Ignores the creeping sense of shame trying to edge its way into his consciousness. It’s just a fucking fantasy. Nobody needs to know what he gets off to in his own time.

And he’s perfectly capable of separating fantasy from reality.


	2. Paris, 2008

It’s after 1am when Tony finally makes it home. The living room lights are off, thank god.

He wiggles the key around until it catches, carefully eases the door open, and slips inside. Definitely no movement in the living room. He closes the door just as carefully, rests his forehead against it for a moment.

Teeth. Pyjamas. Bed.

He toes his shoes off while he waits for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Once he can make out the hallway table and the banister, he nudges his shoes against the wall and tiptoes up the stairs.

Three steps from the top, he pauses.

Adam’s light is on.

Tony closes his eyes for a moment. Exhales. 

Okay. Fine. What's another half hour when he's already been awake for nineteen?

He trudges back down to the hallway, fumbles for the light, and pads into the kitchen. The sick bucket is in its usual place under the sink. He grabs a glass from the drying rack, sticks it under the tap while he rummages in the top drawer for the Alka-Seltzer.

Three left. He makes a mental note to put them on his shopping list.

Glass of water in one hand, bucket in the other, he elbows the hallway light switch off and heads back upstairs.

There’s enough light spilling out of Adam’s door to avoid tripping on the shoes he’s left in the middle of the floor, and the crumpled t-shirt a little further along. Tony’s just passing his own door when he hears a muffled _thud_ and a groan.

An instant later he’s at Adam’s door, Adam’s name on his lips as he shoves it open the rest of the way – and freezes.

Freezes, and stares. At the muscles of Adam’s arse and thighs as they flex. And thrust. Into the blonde he has face-down on the bed beneath him.

Shit.

Adam’s entire, very naked body is stretched out over her, light from his bedside lamp shifting over his shoulders as he moves. And oh, how he moves. Even from here Tony can see the way Adam rolls his hips at the end of each thrust, changing the angle just when he’s deepest. Adam pauses for a moment to spread his knees a little wider, and his next thrust makes his partner moan out loud.

Tony bites down on a noise of his own and ducks back out of sight, flattening himself against the wall.

He squeezes his eyes shut but can’t help hearing what’s going on through the doorway. The girl is panting with every thrust, and when Adam murmurs something too low for Tony to make out, the sound of his voice goes straight to Tony’s cock.

The girl gasps out a _yes_. Adam chuckles, there’s a pause – and then Adam lets out a groan that has Tony hugging the bucket to his chest, biting down hard on his lip.

He opens his eyes again, wills himself to move. But now that the door’s open he can see their shadows moving as they pick up the pace. Adam starts talking again, still too low to make out, but whatever he’s saying is making the girl plead _yes, yes_ , over and over. Tony can hear the bed frame creaking as Adam grunts and gasps between words.

All of a sudden the girl breaks off into a loud _aah!_ – and a few moments later Adam lets out a long, filthy groan.

Tony clings to the bucket and glass, hardly daring to breathe.

It feels like an eternity before Adam speaks again. The girl laughs, and the shadows shift again as someone stands up.

Shit, shit, shit.

Tony flees, tiptoeing back down the hall as quickly as he dares. He nudges his door open with a shoulder, then puts the bucket and glass on the floor so he can ease it shut again.

He waits and listens, heart still racing, but the muffled voices don’t seem to be coming any closer.

He lets out a shaky breath. Swallows.

Fuck it.

He strips off his shirt as he crosses the room, then tugs down his trousers, almost trips over his underwear as he kicks it off and crawls onto his bed. He buries his face in the pillow and groans as he grabs his cock and squeezes.

Fuck, he really needs a toy. But the cupboard’s on the other side of the room and he’s already jerking his hips into his hand, aching for more. 

He turns his head so he can get two fingers in his mouth, slicks them up as best he can. Then turns his face back into the pillow to muffle another groan as he pushes them both inside himself.

It’s not enough. But Tony imagines it. Imagines Adam’s weight on top of him, Adam’s big, thick cock pressing into him. So much bigger than his fingers. Imagines Adam murmuring filthy things in his ear as he fucks into Tony long, and slow, and deep.

He imagines gasping out _yes_ for Adam. _Yes_ and _please_ and _more_ , while Adam gives him everything he wants, fucks him so hard he’ll feel it for days. Tony speeds up the hand on his cock, clenches around his fingers, imagines how much deeper Adam would feel inside of him.

He comes with a gasp, spilling all over his duvet.

Face still pressed into his pillow, he strokes himself through the aftershocks, trembling and clenching around his fingers. Eventually he turns his head back to the side to gulp in the cool air, try to get his breath back.

He should get up, clean up. Brush his teeth. But if he was knackered before, he’s utterly exhausted now. Just wants to curl up and pass out as soon as possible.

He takes another deep breath, eases his fingers out of his arse, and wipes both his hands on the duvet cover.

He’ll regret this when he wakes up sweaty and sticky with a load of dirty bedding to wash. But right now he just can’t bring himself to care. He shoves the duvet down far enough to get his feet under it, then pulls it back up to his chin and curls up on his side.

Sleep first. Deal with the mess tomorrow.


	3. Paris, 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dub-con due to intoxication in this chapter, but nobody's intentionally taking advantage of anyone else.

“I’m gonna get another drink.”

Adam nearly topples his stool as he slips off it, grabs onto the table for a moment. Tony looks away.

The dance floor is the usual mess of writhing bodies, barely dressed, drunk or high or both. Tony sighs, checks his watch. Seven hours till they need to be back in the kitchen. 

One more drink. Then he’ll start convincing Adam to leave.

He leans back against the wall, cradles the warm dregs of his pint. On the plus side, Adam’s yet to pull anyone tonight. The last thing Tony needs is another bloody Christine. He turns back to the bar to check on Adam – and frowns.

The club’s not small, but it’s empty enough this time on a Tuesday that Tony can see the whole length of the bar. And Adam’s not there.

Tony checks his watch again: it’s only been three minutes. He takes a sip of his beer and winces. Tepid, and just as tasteless as it was when Adam bought it.

He puts his glass on the table, checks his pockets for his phone and wallet, and is just standing up when a familiar mop of dirty blond catches his eye. For a moment Tony relaxes – then Adam staggers into view, half-leaning on the girl he’s got his arm around as he holds something up to her mouth. She keeps her eyes on Adam as she closes her lips over his fingers.

Tony clenches his jaw. Brilliant.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, hands tightening into fists. Adam doesn’t even look at Tony as they walk past. He slides a hand down the girl’s back as they walk to the dance floor, slips his fingers into the top of her waistband. Tony checks his watch again.

He could just leave.

When he looks back, Adam’s got both hands on the girl's hips and is pressed up against her, rolling their hips together. They look like they’re trying to swallow each other’s tongues. The girl’s got one hand clenched in Adam’s hair, the other stroking up and down his back under his t-shirt. Adam slides a hand down to her thigh, tugs it forward to make her half-straddle one of his, and okay. Enough is enough.

Tony stalks over to the dance floor and grabs Adam by the shoulder, shouts his name.

Adam pulls back from the girl he’s kissing, head lolling around to look at Tony – and shit. His pupils are blown, his hair’s damp with sweat, and after squinting to focus on Tony for a few seconds he grins a big gormless smile and then goes right back to sucking the girl’s face off.

Tony takes a deep breath, then grabs one of each of their shoulders, yanks them apart.

The girl yells something slurred that might have been _arsehole_ , but Tony ignores her, holding Adam’s shoulders to steady him. Adam blinks a couple of times, then steps forward –

– and suddenly there are huge, warm hands cupping Tony’s jaw, and the shock of Adam pressing their lips together makes Tony gasp, which is all Adam needs to press his tongue right into Tony’s mouth.

Tony’s brain stalls completely as Adam kisses him. Adam’s hands slide down Tony’s chest to his hips, and he tugs Tony forward sharply enough that Tony practically falls into Adam’s arms.

Adam’s hard. His cock is pressed up against Tony’s hip, and his hands are on Tony’s arse and his tongue is in Tony’s mouth and there’s a solid thigh pressing between Tony’s legs and oh, _fuck_.

Tony clutches Adam’s t-shirt and moans. Adam moans right back and starts rocking his hips, using his hands on Tony’s arse to lift Tony up onto his toes so they’re pressed right up against each other. Tony’s hard now too, kissing Adam desperately because he never thought – Adam would never –

Adam would never.

Tony shoves Adam back. He staggers a little, panting. Adam looks as wrecked as Tony feels.

He frowns at Tony, swaying on his feet. “Was I kissing you?”

And god, Tony just – can’t. He bolts for the bathroom, shoulders his way through the door and into the nearest cubicle. He’s got a hand on his cock almost before he’s got the door locked, squeezing through his jeans, because he can still feel Adam’s hands on his arse and Adam’s thigh between his legs and he just. Can’t.

His hands shake as he gets his flies open, slumps back against the wall and tugs his jeans down just far enough to get his cock out. It’s desperate, and messy, and he’s sure it’s entirely fucking obvious to anyone else in the room what he’s doing but he’s never, ever going to get over the feeling of Adam Jones grinding against him like Tony is the only person in the world he’s ever wanted to fuck.

He can’t help imagining what could have happened if – if. If Tony hadn’t stepped back. If he’d pulled Adam into the men’s room with him. If Adam were with him in this cubicle right here, right now, pressing Tony back against the wall. If the hand on his cock were Adam’s. Big, warm, firm – Tony bites his lip, tries not to moan out loud.

He pushes away from the cubicle wall, turns to press his free hand and his forehead against the cool paint, spreads his legs a little. Adam could fuck him like this. Right here. In the men’s room of this shithole nightclub, while Tony braces himself on the wall, hoping nobody cares enough to call security, right here with his trousers around his thighs and his arse bared and Adam’s cock pressing into him –

Tony groans as he comes, spattering all over the wall.

Fuck.

He closes his eyes, forces himself to breathe deep.

A moment later he realises just how sticky the wall he’s got his forehead on feels, and pulls back with a grimace. Yanks some paper from the toilet roll to clean himself up, then wipes the wall down as best as he can.

Feeling a little steadier, he fastens his trousers and lets himself out of the cubicle. Washes his hands. Splashes some water on his face.

Okay.

He takes one last deep breath, then steps out of the bathroom, running a hand through his hair to smooth it out. With any luck Adam will have crashed in a corner somewhere, and security will help Tony bundle him into a taxi home.


End file.
